


We grew up here together

by VictoriaPyrrhi



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Schmoop, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, next door neighbors au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12087663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaPyrrhi/pseuds/VictoriaPyrrhi
Summary: They move to Death City when he’s ten, which kind of sucks. He left behind some good friends and a good music program, and a city filled with things to do. But then, there's Maka Albarn.





	We grew up here together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabulousanima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabulousanima/gifts).



> Written back in 2014 thanks to a prompt from Fab, "Next Door Neighbors AU."

They move to Death City when he’s ten, which kind of sucks. He left behind some good friends and a good music program, and a city filled with things to do. His parents buy him a new bike now that they aren’t stuck in the middle of a huge city. Of course, it was Nevada, so it’s too hot to ride most of the time, but, Soul figures, that has to at least count for something. Not much, but something.

 

* * *

 

 

Their next door neighbors are the kind of people who bring casseroles when someone moves into the neighborhood, and Soul thought that that kind of thing only happened in movies, but here are the Albarns on their doorstep. He catches the eye of their daughter, who looks to be about his age, and she gives him a bright smile and a little wave. He returns it a little hesitantly as his parents make all the right noises and invite their new neighbors in. Wes gets sent off to the kitchen with the casserole, and Soul is left standing with the girl–Maka.

“So, what do you like to do?” And ok, he isn’t really the best with meeting new people sometimes–he’s weird. Wes and his piano teacher and even some of the people at school tell him that all the time (though Wes at least always sounds really fond when he does), but Maka’s smiling openly at him, and not looking at him like she thinks he’s weird, so he kind of gives her a shrug and a little smile of his own.

“I really like music, and video games and I, ah…play the piano?”

Maka blinks at him for a moment. “The piano, huh?” His shoulders hunch and he braces himself for laughter or the kind of wrinkled-nose disdain he gets sometimes. He can feel his jaw clench a little. Girls tend to think that it’s awesome when Wes plays the violin–all romantic and crap, but they think he’s weird for playing the piano like he does. It’s really…frustrating.

“That’s awesome! I love music too, but I don’t know anything about it, and I never even dreamed of playing an instrument–that’s really cool! Will you play for me sometime?”

His jaw drops a little, and he relaxes suddenly. “I, ah…sure?”

“Cool!”

“Uh, what…what about you?”

He thought that she had been smiling before, but she positively lights up when he asks. “Oh, man! I love to read! I’m in the middle of this book right now where–”

Soul tries to listen to her, but he ends up kind of tuning her out halfway through the part where she describes the lady knight finding romance. It’s not uninteresting, but he’s never been much of a reader unless it’s comics or music.

“Do you play Smash Brothers?” he asks suddenly. She stops.

“Like…I dunno. Once or twice with Black*Star, but I hate playing games with him because he’s such a butt about losing.”

Soul laughs and then he kicks her ass at Brawl for about six rounds before she starts to learn what’s what, and then her parents are for her.

“So I’ll see you at school, yeah?”

“DC Academy?” he asks, and she nods. “I guess so, then.”

“Awesome! Later, Soul!”

And well, that is certainly that.

 

* * *

 

She starts climbing in his window when her parents get divorced. They’re both 13, and he thinks that when he starts high school, his mom is going to insist that he starts going to the private music school that they moved to Death City for in the first place. He’s not so sure that he really wants to, though.

Soul hears the soft plink of a pebble on his window, and he kind of wonders if Maka just has a stockpile of pebbles, or if she just catches the same one every time. He unlocks his window and opens it up for her; he can already hear her soft scrabbling against the trellis. A moment later, she hauls herself through the frame and Soul watches until he realizes that she’s still in her school uniform and then glues his eyes to the ceiling as fast as possible.

“You know,” he says, ignoring the way her skirt is a little rucked up still. Her knees are bruised and dirty. “You could just text me.” Maka grins at him, and it feels good to be able to wipe away the weird little cloud of doom that’s been following her around for the past few weeks, even if it is just for a moment.

“I could,” she sniffs. “I could also probably just walk in the front door, but where’s the fun in that?”

He narrows his eyes a little, “Fair,” he finally concedes, and she grins again, and punches his arm.

“Have you finished up your English yet?”

Soul groans. “Seriously? No. I just got home from lessons, and you know I hate English.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Tough, buddy. What about math?”

“Do you come up here just to bug me about my homework?” It comes out a little meaner than he’d intended. He doesn’t really mind that she comes up here and makes him do his work. He likes that she cares, and it keeps his mom off his back about his grades more often than not, which means that she complains less about his musical “progression” too. But it’s too late to not say it, and Maka visibly withdraws, hands tucking around her elbows and shoulders hunching.

For a second, he thinks she’s going to cry, but she just snaps, “No, jerk.” She glares at him for a moment, and then turns around. “Nevermind. Fail English, jerkbutt. See if I care.”

She’s got a hand on the windowsill before he blurts out, “I did my math in class.” She pauses, but doesn’t look back. “You wanna look over it?”

He doesn’t hold his breath because that’s stupid. It doesn’t matter if she leaves. He’ll get his English done, and then his social studies, and maybe his science if he’s lucky. But without Maka, it’ll take forever, and not just because she answers his questions. He studies better when she’s there.

“I guess I could,” she says finally, and something that he didn’t even realize was tense relaxes in his chest. “I haven’t finished mine yet,” she admits. And that’s as close as he’s going to get to an apology and an admission that math is the one subject (besides music) that she doesn’t excel at. He eases back into his desk chair, and hands her his math book. She takes it and settles into the oversized beanbag chair in the corner. It’s quiet except for the occasional turning page, or Soul’s eraser.

“She moved out the last of her stuff today.” Maka breaks the silence without looking up from the math text.

And Soul, Soul doesn’t know how to respond to that. His folks have problems and they fight sometimes, but there’s never ever been the thought that they would divorce. He stops erasing and waits.

“What’s it like, moving?”

Maka’s been living in the same house since she was born, he knows. He heard her parents screaming about it about three months ago (his mother had just looked up from dinner, stood, and closed the kitchen window). He gives a little shrug.

“I didn’t really want to. I had my friends and I knew where everything was. It was really weird trying to get used to everything out here.” He rolls his chair closer to the bean bag, scooting awkwardly on the carpeting.

“If you had the choice, would you have moved?”

She’s still staring really intently at her homework, and Soul is so, soooo out of his depth here. “I dunno,” he starts. “I really miss my friends, but–” Ugh, feelings. “I mean, I’m glad now, I guess. I got a pretty cool best friend, you know?” He nudges her leg a little with his toe, and that draws a small smile out of her.

“Mom says she doesn’t want to ‘uproot’ me.” And oh, Soul is torn. He knows that Maka idolizes her mother, and while she loves her father, she spends most of her time kind of pissed off at him for pretty legit reasons. He knows she would rather live with her mother. And that–well, he knows it isn’t about him–but it still kinda hurts. She really is his best friend.

“We are about to start high school,” he says, and he tries not to think about the fancy music school his mom is pushing for.

“Yeah.” She shifts a little, and Soul zeros in on the bags under her eyes. “Hey, how’d you end up getting #12?”

Soul moves to sit next to her, elbows and knees moving her out of the way, and she giggles a little, pushing back until gentle nudges get a little more vicious and he knows he’s in for a grade-A noogie when he finally says, “You want help or not?”

He eventually gets back up and grabs his science text before sitting back down next to her, and she’s been quiet long enough that he thinks they’re through whatever earlier was–until she nudges his head with her elbow very gently.

“Am I really your best friend?”

“Duh.”

“I guess I am way cooler than Black*Star, huh?” Soul winces a little at that because Black*Star had gotten on the lunch table yesterday and earned himself a day in ISS for singing Whitesnake songs at the top of his lungs. Soul’s still not sure if the ISS was because he was being disruptive, or because Black*Star’s singing voice had a tendency to strip paint.

“No contest,” he says. “You’re the coolest. After me.”

Maka rolls her eyes, but he can see her mouth twisting up at the corners when he looks up. “Whatever, dork.”

“Shut up, nerd.”

 

* * *

 

It’s almost summer before the bags under her eyes start to disappear. Not that he’s really keeping track, it’s just you know…something. He’s not going to the special music school, and he had tried to tell his mom why, because he knew well enough that the best way to win her over was to act like he’s an adult. But it’s hard to tell her that he isn’t like Wes, that he doesn’t want to go to a school where he’s always going to be the Lesser Evans. He’s been through that before, before they moved out to Death City, and he likes public school. Okay, not really, but he likes his friends and he likes his classes, and he likes that, if he goes into the music room during his lunch period, Mr. Mortimer doesn’t bat an eye at the way he practices on the piano. Every so often, he offers up a suggestion about chord progression, but he’s never once suggested that Soul play something…nicer. He likes that. He thinks that maybe he doesn’t want a career in classical music like Wes is aiming for.

He kind of hates that Wes stood up for him in that conversation. He hates that Wes put one warm hand on Soul’s shoulder and agreed with him and told their mom that it was cool if Soul didn’t want to play the piano in Carnegie Hall–that he did that all without ever once suggesting the one thing that Soul and their mother knew–Soul was never going to be as good as Wes.

But as much as he hates Wes for it, he’s also pathetically grateful for the intervention.  

 

* * *

 

It’s May and he’s in the kitchen, and when fall rolls around, he’s going to be going to high school with Maka and Black*Star and Kid–with Patty and Tsubaki and Harvar–he feels lighter than he has for most of the year. Soul grabs the sandwiches he made and slips through the sliding glass doors with a practiced combo of foot-elbow-shoulder, and stutters to a stop for just a moment.

It isn’t anything, he thinks. Maka’s hair is down, hanging golden around her shoulders, which is a little different than normal, ok yes, and she’s smiling wide and open. And she’s talking to Wes. It’s not like she’s never talked to his brother before. They don’t run into each other a lot, but they’ve always been friendly. Soul just thinks it’s weird that they’re talking now because this is his pool party, and what’s a soon-to-be-senior like Wes wanna do hanging around not-freshmen. It’s weird and unnatural and oh, Maka’s pushing her hair behind her ear and looking up at Wes and, well. Shit.

“Food,” he finally calls out, throat feeling kind of dry.

“Soul! I told you I’d help you with that!”

He gives Maka a little shrug, as she takes the tray from his hands, his stupid brother forgotten for the moment. Their fingers brush and Soul definitely does not flinch away because that would be stupid.

“Mm, what’dya make, little bro?”

Soul scowls. “Sandwiches for me and Maka, Wes.”

“Nothing for me?” He grins, and Soul knows that it’s meant to be teasing, but dammit he just wants his brother to go away.

“Ugh, why are you still here? I thought you were going over to Blair’s.” It comes out more whiny than he anticipates by a pretty huge margin. Wes is still grinning and Soul kind of wants to smack him. A lot.

“I am. Just wanted to hang out with you for a bit. I never get to see my favorite little brother.” He moves to ruffle Soul’s hair and dammit, he knows that Wes is doing this just to be obnoxious in front of Maka.

“Dooooon’t,” he groans, batting Wes’s hand away. Maka giggles a little, and Soul feels his face flush. “Also you are full of shit. I’m your only brother.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite.”

“Wes.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, spoil sport.” He gives them both another grin and a lazy wave as he heads back inside. “Bye, Soul. Later, Maka.”

Soul almost misses the little sigh his best friend lets out as Wes disappears back into the house. “Really?” he asks.

“Really what?” Her face is pink as she takes a bite of her sandwich, and Soul knows that suspicious pink shade is not from the sun.

“Wes?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbles. “This sandwich is really great, Soul! Thanks for making it–”

He sighs and lets her change the subject, and by the time the rest of their friends show up, he’s mostly forgotten about it.

 

* * *

 

Soul doesn’t ever sneak into Maka’s room. Not when they’re 10, not when they’re 16 and he can see her hang up the land line, shoulders tense and mouth pulled into a plastic smile. It’s not that he doesn’t think about it–he has. It’s just that she seems to really like climbing up the trellis to his window, or, every now and again, when he lets down the rope ladder they made in Home Ec freshman year. Also, Spirit is a cop, and over protective doesn’t even begin to describe his attitude towards his daughter. Soul would like to live to graduate public high school, thank you very much.

He’s pretty sure his parents realize that Maka comes over. He gets a disapproving look from his mother every now and again, and it takes every bit of willpower he has not to get defensive about it. He can hear the lingering sound of that girl, unspoken but still present, whenever she casually mentions Maka. She’s his best friend, and it bothers him that his mother doesn’t want to recognize how awesome Maka is.

His father shrugs carefully once, after a particularly viciously polite conversation revolving around whether or not “Soul’s little friend” would be staying over for dinner. “You know how she gets,” he says.

“Maka’s the valedictorian of our class!”

His father pins Soul with a raised eyebrow. “And your mother blames her for you not going to that fancy school we sent Wes to, even though we all know you didn’t want to go anyway. It’s just how she is. She’ll get over it eventually.” Soul isn’t so sure, but there’s not much that he can do about it other than keep defending Maka which…well, that’s just a given.

If it’s nice out, he just leaves his window open, and she reads it like the open invitation that it is. The problem is that sometimes he forgets that he’s left it open, and over the years Maka has gotten really unfortunately good at making that climb.

For instance, he’s ten minutes into the webcast he’s started as part of a media studies class and doesn’t realize that she’s back there until he looks up into the webcam and sees her behind him. He yelps and nearly falls out of his chair, and she’s laughing at him, bright and loud.

“Oh my god, you can’t just do that.”

“Do what?” she asks, kicking the beanbag–her beanbag because who is he kidding–over closer to his desk. He just glares at her, and she smiles mischievously and oh. Soul sighs and resolutely turns his chair back to his computer because Maka is his best friend, and she, like just about every girl that he’s met, has a crush on his brother, and that’s not cool. He isn’t going to be that guy.

He grumbles, and she laughs. “Are you going to let me finish this?”

“Maybe?”

“Is Maka Albarn preventing me from doing school work? Who are you? What have you done with the nerd?”

She kicks at his chair and actually looks a little upset. “Come on, Soul, you know I wouldn’t really.”

“Nope. You definitely are keeping me from being studious. How can I be all that I can be when you’re here being a bad influence?”

She huffs and kicks at him a little harder. “You are such an asshole, I am doing no such thing–” Soul grabs her foot and she squeaks a little. “Don’t you dare–”

“Dare what?” He grins, fingers poised over bare toes.

“I will kick you in the face.”

There is a moment–tense stillness as they stare each other down–and then an explosion of activity as he digs his fingers in and she kicks out with her other leg and they’re flushed and laughing and Soul’s got one hand behind a bare knee and Maka’s bright green eyes crinkle as she snorts with laughter. And ok, he kind of knew before, but it’s pretty much an unavoidable truth at this point.

He is so, so fucked.


End file.
